An Accident
by DenniBenni
Summary: Tim didn't mean to do it. It was an accident. All of it...


AN: So…I started working on this out of boredom and I actually wasn't going to post it, but I changed my mind and decided I would. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: I do NOT own Young Justice or its characters.

* * *

Disoriented.

Confused.

Lost…

All three had similar meanings. Similar meanings that could make a person's heart drop just by the sounds they made. By their syllables. It could break a person in two with the lightest of touches. Shatter them into a million pieces without batting an eye. Drowning. Burning. It all hurt and it all burned. It burned so much it almost felt cold. Like turning the tap all the way to hot and feeling it run over your skin. It eventually gets so hot it feels cold.

Robin felt the burning…right in the center of his chest. It seared away the skin, but not physically. Physically he was unharmed. Fine honestly. He was not the one hurt. The man on the rooftop, lying on his back gasping…he was hurt. And as Tim was thrown away from the man, his elbows scrapped against the pebbles of the roof, even through the fabric of his suit he could feel the stinging sensation of skin being ripped.

"_What the hell are you doing, Robin!?"  
_

"_Stop!"_

"_You're going to __**kill **__him!"_

Tim's body tensed as the words rang through his head. He propped himself up on one elbow, his eyes squinted behind the mask as he thought. He felt sick and cold. The burning in his chest had faded into emptiness. He felt stickiness between his gloves and the familiar smell of blood flooded his nose. He stared at the two figures in front of him as they kneeled next the form _(demon) _on the ground.

And maybe not a demon. Human…not a demon. Barely breathing and bleeding across the rooftop. Tim's eyes widened behind the domino mask a moment as his brain processed exactly what was going on…

_I…did that…_

Tim choked slightly, sitting up fully. His fingers ached along with his wrists. His eyes stung with threatening tears that he refused to allow to fall. Tim watched as the two figures checked the man for life and the sound of M'gann's voice speaking into her com saying, "Nightwing, we need immediate medical assistance for a suspect."

Tim didn't hear the reply. He was too busy staring at the person whose eyes were burning into his skin. He looked up seeing the face of Superboy. His eyes were daring the boy to move. They were cold and warning. The kind of eyes used on a criminal.

_No…No I'm not a murderer._

_I swear I'm not a murderer._

_I didn't mean to do that…I didn't mean it…_

_It was an accident…_

"Robin," M'gann's voice broke through his thoughts suddenly. He looked at the green Martian who was kneeling next to the victim…or was he still a criminal? Tim's hands might have changed his definition entirely.

She continued once she saw she had the boy's attention, "I need some gauze from your belt."

Tim opened his mouth to reply, but nothing escaped besides a small whimper like noise. His shaky _(bloody) _hand moved to his belt, reaching into one of the various pockets and pulling out a roll of gauze. Slowly, he opened his hand and M'gann used her telekinesis to bring it to her own hand.

Suddenly, Tim noticed his breathing. Had he been gasping this whole time? Had he been hyperventilating through all of this? Quickly, Tim leaned forward, pressing his head between his knees. He had done that. The man on the rooftop, bleeding to death and half way choked was his doing.

He almost murdered…and maybe he had if the man dies.

"I-I…didn't," Tim stuttered, not looking at the other two. He could feel the warm tears seep through his mask and down his cheeks.

_I didn't mean it…_

A strangled gasp escaped him. Or maybe it was a mixture of a gasp and a sob. He ran his hands through his hair, wrapping them behind his head. His raven locks began to shimmer in the moonlight from the red crimson.

_It was a mistake._

_I'm sorry._

_I'm so sorry._

He vaguely heard another pair of feet land on the rooftop, but he refused to look up and see who it was. He had a terrible feeling in the pit of his stomach that he knew, but didn't want to know. Quickly, he covered his ears with his _blood soaked _hands and shut his eyes tighter than they already were. He heard shuffling over the pebbles as the body was lifted and the man was carted away to be treated.

_Save him._

_I hate him, but save him so that I'm not a killer._

It was selfish. But, he didn't care anymore.

Tim could hear someone saying his name through his hands. _His name. Not Robin. _It had to be Dick. God…why'd he have to come here? Right now? Things were bad…they looked bad and they just _were _bad. Dick needed to leave him alone on the cold rooftop. Leave him alone to punish himself in the cruel winter. His fault. His problem.

Tim kept his head between his knees and his hands on the back of his head. When the voice saying his name got closer and closer and the pebbles made a shifting sound, he knew someone was next to him. He cried out when he felt a hand on his arm, though it was very gentle, it startled him enough to try and scramble away. He clawed at the loose pebbles as the hand became stronger so that he could not run away. A hand grabbed his bloody wrist while the other wrapped around his back and pulled him into a forceful embrace.

Tim thrashed, still refusing to open his eyes. He heard shushing and his name being spoken. He heard words saying it was ok, but that was a lie because he almost _killed _someone. He might have actually, if they don't save him.

Tim feels a comforting hand run up and down his spine through the padding of his suit, attempting to calm him. Dick hugs him like that when he's upset, but this can't be Dick. Dick would hate him for what he had done. He had attempted to kill a man and that was just…an abomination.

_I'm an abomination._

Another hand runs through his hair, clearly ignoring the blood that had stained the raven locks. There are kisses against his forehead as Tim feels his body beginning to cease all thrashing movements in favor of exhaustion and sleep. He unwillingly slumps against the restraining figure that has a voice and hug so similar to his brother's.

_But, it can't be him because I'm a monster and I no longer deserve a brother._

_Not that I ever did in the first place._

An arm wraps itself tightly around Tim's back and another slides underneath the creases of his knees. Tim is weightless as he's lifted into the arms of his not-brother. There is a breath on his neck that whispers into Tim's turmoil, "I've got you, Timmy."

Funny…his brother calls him Timmy…

Well…he _used _to…

* * *

The next seventy-nine hours are spent in and out of _delirium._

Bright lights are almost always there when he wakes. They burn his eyes and make him want to cry and sometimes he does just because he can. There's always one voice there that wipes away the tears that fall down his cheeks. Someone always removes them…

Sometimes he can hear whispering. It's not always directed towards him, but sometimes that voice does talk to him. Other times it talks to other voices in the room. Quiet ones. Except this one voice that likes to talk really fast. So fast Tim doesn't understand half of what he's saying. He can't catch up.

Sometimes he opens his eyes to see a blurry figure above him, whispering things to him. Other times he's on his stomach and when he wakes up crying the person rubs soothing circles on his back. But those soothing circles _burn _because Tim knows he doesn't deserve them. They're pity comfort.

Comfort from demons.

It's terrible and tortuous. Tim constantly feels like he in a state of purgatory. Stuck between a conscious and unconscious state. It feels much longer than seventy-nine hours, but he can hear someone say the hours every once in a while. The whispers continue to evade him though. The meanings unknown and doomed to sink away.

To drown.

Sometimes there is warmth next to him that he can only describe as another body. The body snores loudly at night and he always feels the weight of an arm hugging him close. It tightens when he cries, but he had found that crying is the only way he can communicate that he's awake. But, he cries in his sleep, so maybe they don't even know the difference.

Tim never ever once woke to an empty room.

Never.

* * *

The last time Tim woke, it had been eighty-six hours. Eighty-six hours since what though? Well, from what he could remember was when he had almost killed a man. And maybe that man was dead now. But, if he was Tim didn't want to know. He honestly didn't.

Tim felt his hands instinctively grasp the bed sheets tightly, the fabric soft between his fingers. He choked a bit, his throat dry and sore. His eyes burned as he opened them, though the room was not bright at all. The florescent lights were gone and right now the only light leaked in through a window in the room. The drapes were closed, but a bit of light still managed to squeeze its way through.

Tim blinked, taking in a deep breath. He was in Wayne Manor? So they hadn't thrown him out on the street for what he had done to that man? For breaking Bruce's law? To be completely honest, Tim was shocked. Utterly shocked.

The boy almost screamed in fear when he felt a soft hand brush against his temple. The back of someone's fingers rubbed gently as a voice whispered, "You awake, Timmy?"

Tim's head jerked to the side, never lifting himself from the pillow. He regretted the sudden movement from the way his head pounded against his skull. His vision was blurred as he stared at the figure who had spoken and touched him. The familiar voice that had comforted him in his _delirium_.

Finally after a few moments of whirling vision, Tim's eyes focused on the figure…

Dick Grayson.

Tim gasped loudly, and choked on the saliva in the back of the throat. His eyes widened and immediately he felt the stinging of threatening tears burn his eyes. Before his vision was completely flooded, Tim managed to see the look of complete surprise etched across Dick's face.

"Hey Timmy," Dick whispered leaning in closer and running a hand through Tim's raven locks. "You're safe now, ok?"

Tim opened his mouth to reply, but nothing escaped it. Only sounds of complete strain to understand what was happening. If he could move right now, he would jump from the bed and run. What kind of game was this? Tim almost killed…Dick should hate him.

Dick leaned closer so that Tim was looking him directly in his eyes. The eighteen year old muttered, "I'm right here, buddy. I'm right here."

Tim shut his eyes and felt a small kiss being placed against his temple. Dick's voice continued quietly, "You're going to be just fine, I promise."

"No," Tim croaked, his throat crying in pain. His eyes watered more as he continued, "No…I…you should hate me."

"What?" Dick asked in complete shock, his eyes widening. "Timmy, why would I hate you?"

Tim swallowed thickly past the lump in his throat. He replied hoarsely, "Because of what happened."

Dick stared at the boy dumbfounded. He said in a hushed tone, "Tim…what do you think happened?"

Tim's eyebrows furrowed in confusion. What does he think happened? Well he knows what happened…he had done it…

"I…" Tim whispered barely loud enough for even him to hear. "I almost killed someone."

Dick's eyes widened at Tim's words. His jaw dropped widely and he looked at the boy closely before asking, "That's why you were crying for me not to leave you? Why you kept saying sorry?"

Tim didn't remember saying that, but he supposed that would be why.

"Timmy," Dick whispered, standing from his chair that was next to the bed. Quickly he sat next to the boy's body on the mattress, causing Tim to turn onto his back so that he could look at his brother better. Dick gently pushed Tim's hair away from his face and continued, "Tim…that didn't happen. At least not for real. We were on a mission with the team. I put you on Beta squad, remember? We were busting Scarecrow for making a shipment of his poison. You got hit with a dose while fighting him on a rooftop."

Tim stared in shock at the older who didn't stop speaking. Dick explained further, "M'gann and Conner found you there. They called me and I came and got you. You've been in and out of consciousness for the past eighty-six hours. It was a strong dose that he gave you and it took us awhile to find an antidote potent enough to cure you."

Dick was silent as Tim stared at him. He whispered, grabbing his little brother's hand tightly, "Tim…you didn't kill anyone. If anything, Scarecrow almost killed you."

Tim swallowed thickly, his eyes watering. He felt almost sick with relief if it made any sense. Tim asked quietly, "I didn't kill anyone?"

Dick smiled a bit and shook his head. He rubbed Tim's arm comfortingly and replied, "No Timmy. Not even close."

"It's seemed so real," Tim choked out from behind his threatening tears of relief. "All of it…it just seemed so real. The blood…the fear. It actually _hurt_."

"I know," Dick whispered, his hand returning to Tim's hair. "But, you're ok and you didn't do anything wrong. I'm just happy you're alright."

Tim swallowed thickly and nodded, his body feeling a sense of relief wash over it. He shut his eyes tightly, letting out a breath he wasn't even aware he was holding. He muttered groggily, "I was scared."

"It's ok to be scared sometimes," Dick murmured. Gently he ordered, "Go back to sleep, Timmy. You're safe."

Funny feeling being safe is. It's not hot or cold. It's not even in the middle. It really…doesn't have a feeling. It's light. It's just very, very light and relaxing…

It's _good _and _heavenly._

It's just…what safe is. It's perfect.

"_I'm safe…" _Tim thought silently.

"_I'm safe. At least…for the time being."_

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Hope you liked it! Please review! :)


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